


Wind

by AngelsandMoose



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: BotFA spoilers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 23:37:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2892308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelsandMoose/pseuds/AngelsandMoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Upon Ravenhill, Bofur follows his heart until it shatters beneath his feet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, this is a 'Sunflower' re-write. If you've read my work 'Sunflower' you'll notice some bits are directly taken from it, otherwise this is a wholly new version. As Battle of the Five Armies is now out, I've seen it twice, and my lovely friend has given me prompt to write this. This one made me cry.
> 
> Be warned, if you've not yet seen Battle of the Five Armies, Do not carry on. You will get spoiled.

… _They would show up. Any moment now, any second, they’d come right up those steps and everything would be alright. Like nothing ever happened. It worked once, it would work again._

These words echoed over and over through the miners’ head, staring outwards through the mist and cold, his arms cradling a body. He’d seen it work with Kíli. That elf—Tauriel—she healed Kíli and brought him back from deaths very door, now Bofur would wait and she would do the same for Fíli. He knew she would, she had to. There was no denying the power of elven medicine, it was a miracle, and that’s exactly what was needed right now, this very second.

Bofurs’ fingers curled numbly around the fabric of Fílis’ tunic, blatantly ignoring the blood that had long stopped flowing, or the dark black patch on the ice. His eyes dull but locked on the far beyond where the sound of the battle still hung in the air, though now it was the last remaining few, the very unlucky to still be caught in the fray. He’d managed to escape when no word returned of the king, his guard, or the princes’ and their prayed-for victory against Azog.

Something drove the brunette dwarf further up those steps, something called to him but something cold upon the wind. It wasn’t the warm, promising feeling he had once gotten whenever he would lay his eyes upon the golden-haired prince, the stolen little looks he loves to share for brief seconds.

No. This calling was cold; colder and harsher than the winds that blew his braids and mustache around or nearly took his hat from his head. Far colder than the armor still clad on his body, there was numbness to this, something deep in the back of his mind and in his gut, he knew what awaited him, but denial and hope drove him on, up the cold, steep steps of Ravenhill.

The strangest feeling…like when you would stick your hand into the shadow of a rock and feel the sudden chill, like if you had been in the cold for hours and your nose and ears were burning and numb. This was far beyond comprehension. The miner stared ahead, frozen as the lake below, at the body so unceremoniously laid on the ground.

Carefully, with each step feeling like moving the heaviest stone, he approached. His eyes burnt, not even by the wind or ice blown into them, but something more powerful. His mind and heart screamed for him to turn and run, to run and escape what he was looking at. It couldn’t be real.

The fairest, golden hair he’d ever laid eyes on, the sweetest, softest of voices, the most beautiful of eyes that would shimmer like sapphires in the moonlight. They were as cold and still now as the rock beneath his feet, lying at his end on the ground.

_“What?” Fíli laughed, staring over at Bofur who looked pleased with himself._

_“Sapphires, sittin’ in the moonlight.” He repeated, “That’s what yer eyes look like.”_

_“You’ve seen them enough to know that?” The prince tilted his head, still smiling fondly at the older dwarf._

_“When I look at you, I look at your eyes.” Bofur said, looking out at the river._

Bofur slowly moved over, going to kneel by the body and carefully collect it in his arms. Perhaps it was the cold winds and hours of fighting getting to him, but he was shaking. A moment such as this, either of them held by the other, would create safe and welcoming warmth that would remain for the long hours of the journey ahead.

Now it felt as if he were holding nothing, frozen air, stone, nothing all at the same time.

The miner moved slowly, shaking violently as he removed his mittens and threw them aside, pressing his hand to the princes’ cheek. There was no warmth there, so he checked his chest. Pressing his palm flat against the armor, then pushing it aside and ignoring the gaping wound through his heart, Bofur fumbled around to feel a heartbeat.

He growled in frustration, carried away by the wind. He pulled off his hat and threw it down, pulling Filis’ body up enough to press his ear to the princes’ chest, trying in vain to hear something, anything at all, a sign.

Moving his head away, he looked at Fílis’ eyes, as dull and lifeless as they were, still caught in the moment of fear and sadness.

“F-Fíli…” Bofur whispered his voice hoard and cracked, buffeted by the wind.

“T-The elves…they can save ye’…”

His hands moved around to hold the prince close again, rocking their bodies together to keep warm. His eyes cast over the steps that took him to his heart. Any moment now they would show up. Any moment now, any second, they’d come right up those steps and everything would be alright. Like nothing ever happened. It worked once, it would work again.

Every few moments, or what felt like moments, Bofur would look over and fix a strand of the golden hair, fussing over Fíli.

_“Stop that—why are you doing that?” Fíli swatted away Bofurs’ hand playfully, a friendly scowl on his face._

_“Yer hair is just so pretty, an’ it’s not all in a braid.” Bofur giggled, reaching out again and making a squeaking sound when his hand was swatted away again “It’s nice to play with~”_

_“If you play with my hair, then I get to play with_ yours _.” Fíli countered, leaning in with a mischievous grin, waggling his eyebrows at the miner._

_Bofur blushed lightly and used his hat to shoo the prince away “Oi, cheeky. Away with ye’, you’ve got important stuff to be done.” He grinned shyly when Fíli smirked at him with that soft little way, his eyes saying more than he would._

_“Promise me you’ll let me play with your hair soon, alright?” Fíli arched a brow at Bofur “Actually, don’t promise. Princes’ orders.”_

_“Fine, yer highness, fine. Whatever shall please thee.” Bofur bowed dramatically where he sat, scoffing and turning away when the prince winked and walked off._

The wind pulled at Bofurs’ look hair in places, his braids unkempt and askew everywhere. He paid no mind to it, honestly. _Fili was the one who actually cared if my braids were nice._

“F-Fíli, Fíli when we get back…you need to help me…” Bofur whispered, leaning closer “Look—my hair is a mess, you know how silly I am--…Fíli, tell me how messy a dwarf I am.”

Nothing escaped the princes’ lips, not a word or even a last breath. Something like that had been lost long ago in an attempt to save his family, one that all but failed. The line of Durin they had known now lay lifeless on the icy Ravenhill, but nobody knew.

After the longest time of silence, Bofur huffed and looked back out to the stone steps, hoping the mist would part any moment and an army of elves would come with Thorin and Kíli in toe, there to save their fallen kin.

Any second now.

“Fíli, the elves can help—you saw them in Lake Town…” Bofur murmured, speaking against the wind. He gently shook the others’ limp body in his arms, “You saw, they’ll help—“

Fílis’ arm dropped from Bofurs’ hold, his fingers falling against the ice.

Bofur looked down and finally saw it. He saw everything now in the clearest of light, no longer blurred by wind or mist, nor by his heart, wishes or his pathetic hope that had driven him along through this whole god-forsaken journey.

The prince was dead. His beautiful golden hair stained by blood and dulled by the cold, his eyes fogged and clouded over in death, staring into the sky above and nothing at all. The warmth was gone; the love that beat through Fílis’ heart was _gone_. The love he had promised everything for Bofur, it was _gone_.

“Fíli…” Bofur murmured, blinking rapidly against the flurry of wind “F-Fíli…--Fíli, My prince…”

Finally, the burning in his eyes fell, tears that seemed to warm the trail down his cheeks and wet his beard, he almost didn’t feel them, but he didn’t want to. Everything, he wanted it to stop. All the feeling in his whole being. From his fingers to his feet, from his eyes to his heart, everything. He wanted it to end there.

Above all the sounds of battle, of the great eagles that flew overhead, even through the cold, icy wind the mournful first sobs rang clearly.

Bofur slowly sank down, cries racking his body through its violent shaking. His fingers tugged at the body, pulling it as close as possible. He buried his face in Filis’ chest, sobs being muffled by chainmail and leather. A shuddering gasp as he pulled his face and hands away and cupped the cold face of his One, wailing silently, his thumb stroking the braided mustache and wiping away dried droplets of blood from his beautiful face.

“Fili…!” He wailed out clearly, his body shaking as he pulled the limp body into a tight embrace, his mind flashing with so many emotions—all passing through at once and ripping him apart inside. Everything that was, that had been and what could have been were ripped away by the cold winds, leaving him nothing more that as cold and numb as the dead prince.

His love,

His heart,

His lion prince.

_They were gone._

 

Bofur felt empty. He didn’t bother counting the days since the bodies had been laid to rest in the tombs, he felt nothing. Not the dryness of his throat or the emptiness of his stomach. He sat alone, refusing conversation or interaction with anyone.

 

_“Are you scared?” Fíli spoke, almost a whisper to the dwarf standing beside him._

_“I’ve been scared since we got here…” Bofur murmured his eyes uncharacteristically dark “This isn’t the place it once was…it won’t ever be.”_

_“But that’s why we’re fighting!” Fíli smiled “So that we can make it beautiful again…”_

_“Fíli…”the miner started, but couldn’t find the words. What could he say? That his uncle was going to drive his own nephews, his heir and family, into a war because he was stubborn enough to fall in love with a mountain and a pile of gold?_

_He couldn’t—he would not say that to anyone, especially Fíli._

_“Bofur, after this is over, we’ll be free to do whatever we want.” Bofur looked back at the prince, whose eyes were softer, his grin melted into a softer smile._

_“Would you…want to…?”_

_“I wouldn’t dream of anything else.” Fíli smirked, leaning in to gently rest his forehead against Bofurs’._

_“_ Men lananubukhs menu _, Fíli.” Bofur murmured, a smile creeping its way onto his face._

 

When he took a step away from the shadows, it was to walk outside the mountain. Nothing there was helping, not the constant changing and moving and working. They were trying to rebuild a city on the sunset of death, bringing back life to a place to lifeless and cold.

Bofur hadn’t said much of anything, mostly broken, quiet khuzdul to Bifur and only to tell him where he was going.

“A walk in the sunlight will bright yer color back!” Dori cheered.

A walk in the sunlight wouldn’t bring Fíli back, so it wouldn’t do anything.

The miner walked slowly and numbly across the slopes of Erebor, his dull eyes looking at nothing but just gazing around. Something like a butterfly or bird wouldn’t work to catch his eyes, they looked for nothing.

However, a step around a rock and there it was. A simple flower. Golden was its petals, and a strong green were its leaves. A sunflower.

A cough caught in Bofurs’ throat, and he fell to his knees by the plant, looking at it so meaningfully, his eyes suddenly brimmed with tears. He reached out with shaky fingers and gently pet along the soft, yellow petals. It felt new, warm, full of something that had not been in these lands for some time. Life.

Suddenly, a happy sob escaped his lips.

“Sunflower…” his voice was so distant, so broken and cracked.

_“I’ve been thinking…” Bofur started, “of what flower you remind me of.”_

_“Flower?” Fíli mumbled around his pipe._

_“Yes, the kind that grows from the ground.” Bofur stated, fixing weed in his own pipe. “’M thinking…Sunflower.”_

_“Why a sunflower?” Fíli chuckled through a puff of smoke._

_“Because when a sunflower catches the sun it looks bright and golden and happy,” Bofur hummed, pointing the end of his pipe at the younger dwarf “Like you.”_

 

 

 

_“_ Fíli _”_

 


End file.
